Chapter 8
KANE
My nights are filled with dreams of a passionate redhead with freckles scattered across her nose and the fire she’s awakened in me.
When she came over and asked to borrow my kitchen the other night, I could have said no and relished the chance to see her fail.
But that’s not me. I couldn’t bring myself to take advantage of her misfortune.
Plus, it gave me the opportunity to spend time with her.
No way was I going to give that up. I’m not sure why I made that crazy bet with her about selling the bar by St. Patrick’s Day.
It wasn’t planned; it just came out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.
Old habits are hard to break, I guess. I’ve wanted that pub for years, and my father wanted it before me.
Now, I’m not so sure what the hell I want.
And when Quinn had that unexpected meltdown?
I swear I was only trying to calm her. The kiss we shared came out of nowhere and rocked me to my core.
It felt so right. The connection was brief, but intense.
I feel guilty as hell. Like I took advantage of her vulnerability.
And that’s not the type of guy I am. I need to get my feelings about Quinn in check and my business under control.
Speaking of business, today is the third Tuesday of the month, which means it’s the day for the monthly Pelican Point merchants council meeting. I inherited the seat on the council from my father, and it’s made up of the owners of some of the oldest and most prominent businesses in town.
I arrive at the town hall building a few minutes early after grabbing a coffee from the kiosk out front, which features my favorite blend from Recon Roasters, owned by another native son of Pelican Point, Wyatt Dalton.
When I enter the meeting room, I’m surprised to find Quinn talking with some of the members.
What’s she doing here? Has she been appointed to the council?
I take my usual seat at the front table, expecting her to sit in the row of chairs reserved for guests.
But as the mayor calls the meeting to order, he invites Quinn to take the empty seat between himself and me.
Although we don’t make eye contact, I instantly connect with the now familiar energy emanating from her, along with the hint of subtle spice and cinnamon, a scent that is uniquely Quinn’s.
I give a mental shake of my head to clear it of the visions of kissing Quinn as the mayor begins speaking.
“Welcome, council members. For those of you who may not know the new face at the table, I’d like to introduce you to Quinn Kavanaugh.
No doubt you recognize the Kavanaugh name, associated with one of the most established businesses in town, Kavanaugh’s Korner.
What you might not know is that Quinn has moved back to Pelican Point to run Kavanaugh’s since the passing of our dear friend Connor.
She left behind a career as a successful marketing executive in Boston to move back home. ”
An enthusiastic chorus of murmurs emanates from around the table. As if they didn’t know that already. Nothing is a secret in this town.
Mayor Snider continues. “Given her background, I’ve asked Quinn to become a member of the Council and to lend her marketing expertise to one of the biggest annual attractions for our town, the upcoming St. Patrick’s Day festival.
She’s graciously agreed to take over the planning for the event, and I know you’ll all lend your support. ”
When he makes this announcement, the room echoes with applause, almost as if Quinn has arrived to save us from ruining the esteemed holiday.
Darren Kennedy is the first to comment. He never fails to capitalize on an opportunity. “I’m happy to work with Ms. Kavanaugh on the event. My family’s been involved with the celebration for many years.”
The mayor’s reply is surprising. “Appreciated Darren, but I’d like for Kane O’Brien to work with Ms. Kavanaugh. I think it would be a grand idea for the two adjacent Irish pubs to be the focal point of the event. I’m sure they’ll both be happy to have your support, nonetheless.”
Darren’s response to that is to shoot daggers at me from the other side of the table. Seems that puts his plan to suck up to Quinn on ice, while it gives me a prime opportunity to work beside the rival pub owner who now has a prominent place in my dreams.
The festival planning sessions with Quinn in Connor’s old office have become the highlight of my days.
My father’s warnings about always putting business before pleasure continue sounding in my head, but they’re fading with each passing day.
When I arrive at Kavanaugh’s for today’s meeting, I find Quinn at her grandfather’s old rolltop desk, intently studying a photograph.
I clear my throat to signal my arrival, and she looks up, her brow furrowed.
“Kane, do you know the woman in this picture?” She points to the figure on the left. “I’m pretty sure this is a photo of my grandfather as a young man.”
“Yes. That’s my grandmother, Eileen.”
Her finger traces over the faces of both individuals. “They look so happy together.”
“I’m sure they were, once upon a time. My grandmother recently told me they had planned to run off together, until circumstances got in the way.”
She gives me an incredulous look. “You’re kidding! Our grandparents were in love?”
“According to my Gramma, yes. When Connor got sent to Vietnam, that put a halt to the relationship.”
I’d love to know what Quinn is thinking about that, but she doesn’t say anything else as she pins the photo to a bulletin board on the wall above the desk.
Gramma’s earlier revelations about the two of them cause me some concern, as I recognize the same spark between me and Quinn that I see in the old photograph of our grandparents.
While I consider the what ifs, I continue to be haunted by my dead father’s beliefs about blood loyalties and family feuds.